


Half-Fevered Dreams of You and Me

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, But Mostly Love Love Love, College, I AM SORRY, Jealousy, Love/Hate, M/M, Music, Pining, Smut, Very Tame Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I really like your shirt, but I think it is a litte...untucked. There! Fixed it!"</p><p>As Harry says that, he tucks his fingers into Louis' waistband to push the cloth in, and the entire gesture seems to scream a certain kind of meanness about it. It draws attention to the fact that Louis is the only one who's in a dress shirt, all prim and proper, while the rest of the boys are dressed in torn jeans and band tees.</p><p>Louis draws himself straight, eyes narrowing, even as the bare skin on his waist that Harry's hand had brushed, just for an instant, throbs like it's branded, says, "Aren't you sweet? You don't look the kind to notice stuff like proper clothes" - a casual look directed at where Harry's jean are almost just threads hanging together- "but judging by looks is not something I do. Unlike some people."</p><p>OR</p><p>[The boys are in a band; Harry and Louis seem to hate each other. Until they don't.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Fevered Dreams of You and Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angstlarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstlarry/gifts).



> Big up to my betas Desirae, who's basically a lifesaver, and Erin for making this readable!

Louis wakes at precisely 7 am, seemingly in tune with his alarm that starts blaring right after he opens his eyes, and he feels smug, as he turns it off. He likes defeating time, he likes exceeding expectations and, more than anything else, he likes being perfect.

 

But he doesn't do more than like, too much passion is bad, he remembers.

He clambers off his pristine white sheets, obsessively tucking a wayward fold in and makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower before his actual day starts. Louis comes out of the shower exactly fifteen minutes after, and changes into a t-shirt and pressed jeans, not a crease on either of them. He frowns at himself in the mirror, checks the calendar fixed perfectly adjacent to the mirror, and mentally chides himself for almost forgetting the singing audition today.

Louis' father had instilled in Louis a detailed understanding of balance, the weights of academia have to be balanced by something artsy, something freeing and liberating.

Father's voice resonates in his head, with it's various versions of :- 'Perfection is a lifelong hunt, Louis' and 'Keep your desk tidy, and study. Nobody becomes somebody by slacking off.' and 'Extremes of any kind are to be abhorred. Passion is poisonous. Be balanced, be normal, be safe'.

 

Louis admires his father, he admires him a lot but sometimes this quest for perfection seems fruitless, because nothing seems to still that franticity inside him. No matter how orderly he arranges his books, how many seemingly perfect girls he dates, how many skills he acquires and hones, the- the rabid, restless thing inside him just won't calm down.

Sometimes his fingers shake in the dead of the night, when the world is so silent, and he should like that right? He should like the stillness, but it all somehow irritates him, sets his teeth on edge, makes him want to shrug off his own skin.

Louis' hand accidently knocks on the door, as he shrugs his jean jacket on, and audition time, he remembers. Right.

He'd seen the flyer last weekend, a monochrome set of words on cheap paper, but his eyes had caught on them, and he'd felt a tugging in his gut telling him to do it. And so here he is, half-walking half-running along the street to be on time for this audition for a band, named One Direction, who're in need of a guitarist who can provide back-up vocals too.

 

Louis doesn't have his guitar though, figuring the band would already have one. It is just an auditioin, if he actually joins the band he'll ask his mum to send over his guitar from Doncaster.

The audition is being held at some flat across the campus from Louis' own, and as he clambers up the stairs to the fifth floor, he can hear the distant twang of the guitar and a medley of loud voices immediately.

 

The door to the flat is ajar, and as Louis peeks in, he sees there are quite a lot of people. He hadn't expected so many people to turn up, and more importantly he hadn't expected them to be looking quite so competent.

There is a purple-haired girl with huge neon headphones on, swaying to the music, a little dazedly, and a tall boy with a impressive quiff nervously tapping his nails on his thighs, and a girl with mousy brown hair chewing on a gum, and watching everything around her with a most unimpressed and slightly bored expression.

Louis makes his way inside, heading for the latter girl, just as she pops the gum. There are other people too, four or five more and all in all, it's more people that Louis expected to audition for a college band.

Louis and the girl, whose name is Eleanor, make small talk as person after person perform and there's a lively atmosphere of music suddenly, everyone jiving and dancing a little.

It's good as far as auditions go, and Louis thinks he'd really like to be a part of this band.

The people conducting the audition are seated atop a small, round table; one a blond-haired, cheery boy wearing an oversized vest and the other looking like a greek god in some kind of floral patterned black and white sweater. Eleanor actually sighed when he'd entered and Louis had elbowed her in the ribs teasingly.

But it seems that Eleanor's out of luck because the raven haired boy kisses the blond one in passing once, the casualness of it almost fascinates Louis for a moment, how broad shoulders might feel beneath his own fingertips, how tipping back to kiss someone would underline his own smallness.

 

Finally it's Louis' turn, and by that time, most people have left, off to afternoon classes or to lounge in the sun.

 

Him, Eleanor and the purple-haired girl are the only ones left, and as he goes to borrow a guitar from the grinning blonde, Eleanor smiles at him encouragingly.

 

The feel of a guitar in his hands is familiar and new all at once, there is the old joy of childhood rushing through his stomach, much like how a particular scent evokes memories, sudden and almost overwhelming in their intensity.

 

Louis'd decided to go for a safe song, but as he caresses the cool surface of the guitar, he decides to play his old favourite, the one song he always used to bungle up somehow but never minded it, the joy of even badly performing it too much to be tamped down by technical details.

 

Louis' singing, fingers moving expertly and a little reverently, on the strings.

 

It feels nice, like coming home after a voyage at sea, and Louis sings like it's his wont, feels each word of the song, they seem to emanate from deep within him, in the secret lining between his organs.

 

Finally, his voice, soft and strong, high and raspy, stops ringing and Louis opens his eyes to find Zayn, the charcoal haired boy, and Niall, the blonde boyfriend presumably, staring at him with impressed expressions.

 

Louis gets the spot, and it's not surprising because he's used to getting most things he want in life, but Louis is joyous all the same, heart brimming because he'd just re-discovered his love for music, the all encompassing gaiety of performance.

 

It all goes well, Zayn programs his number into Louis' phone and Niall tells him to turn up for the band meeting the upcoming weekend.

 

They're bright, Zayn and Niall, as they segue seamlessly into a unit, and happier for it.

 

Louis promises to come to the band meeting, and as he turns away, Louis catches Niall sweetly kissing the underside of Zayn's jaw in the corner of his eye, and that jolts him a little, makes a peculiar urging well up in his throat, that feels a lot like longing.

 

He turns away quickly, banishing all thought from his mind as he tries to focus on the pavement beneath his feet. One foot in front of another, and Louis moves on.

*****

The band meeting on the weekend starts off weirdly, Louis reaches on time but the atmosphere is a little fraught with tension.

There are two new boys, one curly-haired and lanky, the other beefy and wearing a snapback over a puppy-ish face.

As Louis enters they all become silent, until Niall leaps up to make introductions.  
The curly creature is called Harry, and as Louis takes a proper good look at him, he is stunned to find piercing green eyes staring right back at him, forehead creasing as he frowns at Louis.

 

The other boy is Liam, and he gets up to shake Louis' hand, but Louis can barely spare a look at him, focus caught by the intense gaze of Harry, the boy he's just met, who seems to instantly dislike Louis if his body language is a good indicator.

Louis prides himself on his politeness, so he goes forward, extending a hand to Harry as Louis says, "Hi mate, good to meet you."

Louis almost doesn't expects Harry to take it, to reciprocate, but the feel of a large, warm hand around his own is too real, grasping his tiny hand in a large, almost too tight hold.

The callusness of Harry's fingertips on his own seem to send tingles of electricity up his arm, and Louis shakes it off as some weird kind of biological response.

 

Harry pulls his hand back, and his mouth is really pretty, all red and full bottom lip, so much so that Louis loses his train of thought for a second, until the drawl of Harry's slow voice draws him back.

"I really like your shirt, but I think it is a litte...untucked. There! Fixed it!"

 

As Harry says that, he tucks his fingers in Louis' waistband to push the cloth in, and the entire gesture seem to scream a certain kind of meanness about it. It draws attention to the fact that Louis is the only one who's in a dress shirt, all prim and proper, while the rest of the boys are dressed in torn jeans and band tees.

 

Louis sees it for the kind of subtle intimidation tactic it is, and it's not that he always goes around in prissy clothes, but he'd just come over from a formal presentation in class.

 

Louis draws himself straight, eyes narrowing, even as the bare skin on his waist that Harry's hand had brushed, for an instant, throbs like it's branded, says, "Aren't you sweet? You don't look the kind to notice stuff like proper clothes" -a casual look directed at where Harry's jean are almost just threads hanging together- "but judging by looks is not something I do. Unlike some people."

 

Harry's eyes narrow too, green slits and beautiful pursed mouth readying to say something, but Zayn intervenes. Louis likes Zayn.

 

The rest of the meeting goes in the same vein, Louis makes some suggestion and Harry opposes it, usually in a belittling manner.

 

They're discussing promotion ideas, and for a small band, Liam is ambitious, talks to them about playing in clubs, maybe making a demo cd, getting noticed by the right people.

 

Louis makes a suggestion, "Maybe, this should be more structured. We can assign different parts to all of us, like Niall could work on the tunes, me and whoever on the lyrics, someone else on making contacts."

 

Harry, who'd been sucking on a straw at a banana milkshake, slumped over Niall's shoulder sits up straight, pops the straw out of his mouth and Louis is already anticipating, something fiery burning in his stomach in response to the sight of an angry, huffy Harry. Louis doesn't know what's wrong with him, but his dick might just be getting a wee bit interested in the proceedings.

 

Harry is speaking, fast for once, "-you can't just barge in and expect us to do your bidding. You can't order us around, this band works fine without you interfering."

 

Louis rolls his eyes, bends over to steal Harry's milkshake and slurps noisily at it, and it isn't his imagination but Harry's eyes goes wide at the sight. Maybe it is, who knows?

 

Niall speaks then, "Haz, mate, I don't know what's gotten in you, but this meeting ain't gonna work out if you both continue logging heads" and Louis mentally tries to disperse the images conjured in response to 'logging heads' in his mind- "we should maybe just stop this talk and have a lads night first. Get to know Louis properly?"

 

They all agree, and lad's night it is, except that Harry and Louis pointedly ignore each other. Or try to atleat.

 

Louis, more often than not, finds his gaze drifting to Harry's supine form spread out on the floor, t-shirt bunching up to show off his fern tattoos.

 

It's alright though, no big deal. No deal at all.

After that initial altercation, Harry and Louis do their best to ignore each other, an attempt to keep the peace in the band.  
Louis still can't quite get over Harry's careless attitude and Harry still wrinkles his nose everytime Louis talks about order in the band, doing things professionally and perfectly.

 

But the end point is that they are trying, and if that means that Louis has to break his neck by stubbornly gazing the other way when Harry has one of his impromptu writing sessions, then so be it.

 

It has been two weeks with One Direction for Louis, and he has never felt more happy than he has in those two weeks, scouring food at Niall's or watching Zayn paint in his free time, sometimes discussing their favourite books together, or attending boxing classes that Liam dragged him into, the first time at least, and Louis'd found the sport quite addictive, loving the feel of gloves on his hands, the way he is naturally good at pounding, the way the sweat blurs his eyesight sometimes, trickling ticklishly down his back and neck. He loves his new friends, and he thinks that given enough time, he'd may even be calling them his brothers.

 

The only downside to it all, as far as Louis is concerned, is Harry; hanging out with the boys meant hanging out with Harry, too, sometimes and the boy set Louis' nerves on edge.

 

Just one look at those chocolate curls and that pretty, pink mouth, and Louis feels want uncurling in his belly, but also anger churning in his gut because Harry always smirk at him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed thinly. He'd drawl, in that incredibly slow drawl of his, some variation of 'how productive was your day? Mr. Perfection?' or 'saved any children yet, superhero?' or 'did you defeat entropy yet, Lou Lou?'.

 

This is what infuriates Louis the most, the way Harry can take everything Louis' values and somehow reduce it, crumple it all up with a few words. Make Louis second guess everything about himself, make him think things like does he even want to be an architect or does he even like girls or is he even himself at all or just some strange imprint of his parent's morals? And all that just makes Louis more mad at Harry, because he was just fine before, thinking his life was good, that he was on the right, correct path, and now he's questioning everything from his sexuality to his own personality.

Louis blames Harry and he hates him for it, yes he does.

 

Except spending time with the boys mean spending time with Harry, and spending time with Harry means getting to know him. And getting to know him means Louis has to grudgingly accept that Harry Styles is an alright human being, even though the latter boy doesn't speak two words more than required to Louis, and Louis doesn't get what he's done to warrant this kind of exclusion.

 

Whenever Louis catches Harry at Niall's, the boy always seems to be shirtless and cooking something.

 

On one particular occasion, two months after the induction of Louis in One Direction, Louis comments, leaning on the long kitchen counter, watching Harry "You know, cooking naked is not the way to go. It can seriously harm you."

 

Harry looks up, and for one moment his gaze catches on Louis' lips, but then he widens his eyes mockingly and says, "Is that so? Thank you for that unknown nugget of knowledge, Louis."

 

Louis pushes back from the counter, and, coming closer to Harry's side, says, wondering all the while that where the hell Niall'd disappeared to, "Hey, I think that's enough."

 

"It's not. The eggs aren't done yet."

 

Louis rolls his eyes, "You know I am not talking about the eggs. I mean you and me, this- this antagonism between us, it needs to stop, you need to stop hating me."

 

Harry pauses in his relentless stirring, glances up at Louis with something unpenetrable in his eyes and says, "I don't hate you."

 

Louis huffs out an irritated breath, "Well, it sure seems like it, doesn't it? I am not saying we become best buds, I am just suggesting to, at least, be friendly towards each other. Look, maybe we can songwrite together? A little bit of musical bonding?"

 

Harry starts, as if to say something, then seems to reconsider it, finally going with, "I come from a small village, and the people there weren't like this, not so open-minded. I am gay and I did the mistake of coming out to my friend, my best friend, who was a lot like you are now, and- and he stopped talking to me. Spread the news to the entire village. Your prissy attitude reminds me of him" and here he pauses, takes a deep breath that expands his very fine chest, not that Louis is looking, and goes on, "But you're not like him and I am sorry for judging you like I did. Yes, I do want to try again, at this- this whole friendship thing if you want."

 

Louis is a little taken aback at this, forehead scrunching up, "So you treated me like shit because I reminded you of somebody. That's fucked-up, mate." He waits, wants to see Harry squirm; and squirm he does, quite attractively at that and Louis can't believe this is the first boy he's attracted to. Correction, Cognizant of being attracted to.

 

Louis swallows as he watches the way Harry's hands find each other to tangle nervously together, waiting for Louis to continue.

 

Louis takes pity on him, "It's okay, Harry. Second chances are the essence of life, yadda yadda. Now, make me eggs benedict since we're friends now."

 

Harry lets out a delighted cackle, not unlike that of a huge ostrich, but do ostriches cackle? With their speed and badassery, they totally should but alas, things are seldom as Louis thinks they should be.

 

They eat breakfast together, and Louis thinks he could probably force Harry to wear some clothes now, since they're on proper speaking terms. He doesn't make Harry wear clothes. He can not think about why.

 

*****

Now that they've decided to be friends, or at least calm the antagonism between them, Louis seems to see more and more of Harry. It seems that wherever he goes, two times out of three Harry is also there. Louis attributes this to the fact that he's spending every waking moment with the lads, and they're becoming more of a tight knit group than ever before.

 

Louis loves this feeling, this sense of complete trust and just- just this kind of pure ease that he feels around this boys, like he maybe doesn't have to be the best version of himself for them to love him back, like they don't care much about perfection but more about how you get there.

 

Louis doesn't care how cliche it sounds, but One Direction makes him realize that maybe the journey is as important as the final destination. He feels freer than before, more like himself and more comfortable in his skin.

 

Being Harry's friend is an entirely different experience though, he's clingy like a koala and does things like cook a full english breakfast for Louis, just because Louis' casually mentioned the night before, to Harry, that he misses eggs benedict and rashes of bacon.

 

Harry is the kind to stop at nothing, when he's decided to make someone happy.

 

Harry makes Louis very happy, and he almost can't believe that they clashed so much in the beginning.

 

It's like, if they put aside their differences, then they're best friend material.  
Harry cooks the breakfast for Louis, and somehow manages to sneak into his bedroom with a box full of hot, delicious food.

 

Louis wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder, hand too warm on his naked skin and he opens his eyes to see Harry's face looming quite close to his own.

 

Louis yelps, the sound not really that loud, but Harry shushes him, putting a finger to Louis' lips, saying, "Do you or don't you want this plethora of breakfast delicacies that I've prepared for you? Be quiet and giddy up!"

 

Louis could feel the rough skin of Harry's fingers on his lips and for one insane, sleep-induced second, Louis want to suck it in, wants to know what Harry tastes like.

 

Louis sits up hurriedly, dislodging Harry's finger, "Breakfast? You actually sneaked into my dorm at arse 'o' clock in the morning to feed me breakfast? Harry Styles, what even are you?"

 

Harry's wide smile falters a little, dimples popping out of existence and no, Louis wants them back.

Louis reaches up to dig a finger in Harry's cheek, barely containing himself from pulling him in for a nuzzle.

 

After adequately assuring Harry that, yes, acts such as these incredibly pleased Louis, and yes, Harry is his favourite person in the entire universe, they settle back into bed, shoulders touching and feet tangled up together, eating from the box of goodies Harry's brought.

 

Louis thinks he's never felt more at peace than now, brushing hands with Harry as they eat and talking at length about whatever strikes their fancy, Louis sneaking covert glances at Harry, at his green, green eyes and wide, red mouth that stretches to laugh ridiculously as he cackles over-excitedly at Louis' jokes. Louis feels something like sunshine tingling in the depths of his bones, and realizes that he is so, so fucked. So gone for this boy.

 

*****

Harry and Louis get closer, impossibly so and the rest of the lads shake their head in awe, remembering how they started out but how different it is now.

 

Now you can't see one without finding the other somewhere in a five feet radius, but most probably tangled up together, looking brighter and lighter than they ever did before.

 

Louis seems freer and more carefree with Harry, Harry seems to glow around Louis, his earlier cynicism somewhat taking a backseat to let his happiness radiate out.

 

*****

Louis gets up on a cold Monday morning, six months after he'd joined One Direction, the sheets twisted arounded his body as he twitches from a too-real dream.

 

The sound of a moan rings out in the room, followed by a whisper of, "Harry."  
Louis jerks awake, realizing he's the one making all these sounds, hand automatically going to palm his groin, webs of the dream still clinging to his conscious mind, colorful images of Harry's mouth, the way he smiles up at Louis from his knees, the phantom feeling of Harry's fingers at the back of Louis' knees as he pulls Louis closer to himself, taking more of his dick inside his mouth.

 

Louis whimpers, trying to shake it off, just as he scrambles to push his pyjamas down, holding his dick in two of his hands and resolutely not thinking about Harry as he furiously pulls at it.

 

It is absolutely redundant in the end, because he is thinking about the way Harry whispered into his neck last night, giggling about something, face happy and bright, and Louis comes harder than he remembers coming in a long time.

 

It is not his first time getting off to Harry, but it is the first time when the thought of having sex with Harry is irrefutably mixed with the need to make Harry happy, to keep him smiling at Louis.

 

He'd been ignoring the matter of his sexuality for weeks now, the fact of going back to his parents and telling them he's not straight, a little too much, on top of falling in love with Harry.

 

He pulls a tissue to wipe at the mess on his stomach, belatedly catching up to his own thought and he is not in love with Harry. God. He is not. He's not even sure if he's gay, he cannot be in love with a boy.

 

Harry isn't just a boy though, he is Harry, the one who calls up Louis at four am in the morning to get him to come sleep with him because, "I miss you, Lou. It's lonely here and you're my best friend."  
Who shops for Louis, cooks for Louis, sleeps with Louis, write songs and music with Louis and all of it is platonic. All of it is so bloody platonic, it frustates Louis to no end, and Harry genuinely thinks Louis is straight. Even if he knew that Louis isn't so, Louis doubts that Harry'd love Louis back.

It is confusing and a lot more painful, thinking Harry'd never want him back, coupled with Louis' unavoidable realization about himself, it makes him want to burrow back inside his blankets.

 

His phone lights up with a text, and he checks to see that it's Stan, his best friend from back in Doncaster.

 

It says:  
hey lou i m coming to london for the next weekend  
let's meet up??

 

Louis sends back an affirmative, adding that Stan can share his dorm if he wants, thinking Stan would be a great person to share his present troubles with, he always seemed to know Louis better than Louis himself. It's only a matter of Louis digging up enough courage to say it.

 

Louis spends the weekend with Stan, taking him to all the London hotspots and just having a good bloody time. It reminds him a lot of home, sneaking out to play football, studying until late before exams, and growing up together.

 

It's nice, and Stan takes up so much of Louis' time that weekend that in the end Harry barges in, inviting them to come have dinner with him.

 

Louis can't say no, but the idea of Stan and Harry meeting makes him nervous, almost as if he's erasing boundaries that will lead to Harry being everywhere, his here and now, but also embedded in his past, his home.

 

It goes better than expected, Harry obviously cooks up a storm, literally, and Stan, being the food hog he is, instantly declares his undying devotion to Harry.

 

Louis knows he is joking, but he can't help it as he slides an arm around Harry's waist, fake frowning at Stan as he says, "Oi, this Styles is mine! Get your own somewhere else."

 

It is said in jest, but the atmosphere goes still for a moment, Stan looking between them with a half-amused, half-knowing quirked smile.

 

It makes Louis feels hot suddenly, and he looks up to find Harry staring back at him, eyes widened.

 

Louis is about to dart away, but then Stan goes, "Well, far be it from me to steal your man, Lou. But Haz, you don't have a sister by any chance, do you?"

 

Harry and Stan banter together, but the phrase 'your man' reverbates in Louis' mind, giving everything a pleasant tinge.  
Louis likes how it sounds.

 

When Louis goes to drop Stan off at the station the next day, he is drawn into an unexpectedly tight hug by him, and Louis feels something loosening in his spine, body relaxing into the familiar shape of Stan's.

 

Louis draws back after a while, eyes a little misty but that's because he's got to sneeze. Yeah.

 

Stan's hands are tight on Louis' shoulders, and as he looks up at him, Stan says, demeanor uncharacteristically sober, "You know I'll always love you, right? No matter what, I've got your back, Louis. You won't ever be rid of me."

 

Louis can't meet Stan's eyes suddenly, overwhelmed by the sudden extremity of the emotions he's feeling, so he just nods, eyes on the ground.

 

Stan draws him for a last hug, just as the train arrives, and whispers, right in Louis' ear, "Harry's a lovely guy, you know? Maybe bring him back to see Donny?"

 

Louis can only murmur a bleat of, "Yeah", and Stan is off, getting on the train and going back, taking a little bit of the weight on Louis' mind with him.

 

Louis walks back slowly, everything lighter and more colourful somehow, the hues full of relief that comes with acceptance, unconditional love.

 

He texts Stan: Harry is indeed a lovely guy. Will need to ASK him before dragging him to Donny though. Love you too, mate.

 

*****

It's their first proper gig as One Direction, one that does not entail singing at frat parties or shitty uni bars. This is a proper posh club, all sleek and shiny, and Louis is so excited at their prospects, can't stop himself from imagining big things, record albums for them, even though outwardly he scoffs at Niall's exuberance.

 

The stage is sufficient for all of them to spread out, protecting them from Harry's flailing arms. Harry tends to get a little too excited at gigs, and Louis pretends to frown at him, but he's afraid that the barely suppressed and crinkly smile sort of give him away.

 

They set up their equipment, and Harry goes over to hug his friend who got them the gig.

 

She is strangely compelling to watch, pulling Harry into a long, drawn out hug; black dress short on her tan legs and a captivating kind of laugh that Louis can almost hear from near the stage.

 

But the thing that immediately captures Louis' attention is the way she smooths a hand over Harry's back, gesture familiar and possessive all at once.

 

Logically, Louis knows that Harry is gay, but he still can't stop the jealousy that rushes through his blood unpleasantly.

 

He abhors jealousy, thinks it's the most useless of all emotions, had always strived to ignore it.

Louis doesn't like how it made him feel all kinds of tendencies to be rude and somehow just annihilate the person who had what he wanted.

 

But the Louis of past had never acted on his jealous tendencies, and Louis decides that he won't let it show even now, would defeat the screams of mine that were rattling his bones.

 

He picks up his guitar, fiddling with it as Harry makes his way to them, with the blond in tow.

 

"This is Caroline, and she knew Nick who owns this club, and is the absolute babe who got us this gig."

 

They shake hands with her, and Louis sees Liam's eyes light up a little, in response to Caroline apperance and Louis suddenly wants them to hook up, wants Liam to take Caroline away from Harry. He frowns again at his train of thoughts, chiding himself and then, offers to buy a drink for Caroline, to which she replies by honest-to-god pinching his cheeks, and loudly exclaiming, "Your boys are nicer than you, Haz. You never buy me drinks anymore."

 

Louis lets a unsure smile stretch his lips in response, skin bristling at her given nickname to Harry, and he notices Harry is frowning too, looking down at his feet.

 

Louis nudges Harry's hand, as he sidles past him to the the bar, quirking his eyebrows.

 

Harry looks up immediately, eyes intense on Louis for a moment, as he catches Louis' hand and gives it a quick squeeze.

 

Louis' heart is thundering in his chest, a little overcome with how nice and large Harry's hand feels, all warm, and, Louis can almost imagine, possessive, around his.

 

As he waits for the drinks at the bar, Louis attempts to reason with himself that Caroline is not a threat, as Harry is most decidedly gay, also not Louis' to worry over, so it'll be better to just forget about all these nasty feelings churning in his gut.

 

Louis looks around at the crowd there, most of them look to be much older than them, and more sophisticated looking, all sleek dresses, pressed pants and shiny shoes; and Louis can suddenly feel the nerves and anxiety throbbing in his blood. What if he's not good enough? What's if forgets the lyrics or worse bungles up the notes?

 

Louis picks up the glasses, almost dropping them as his hands fumble a little shakily. He's not even dressed properly, wearing Harry's overlarge t-shirt that sags over his collarbones and tight, black jeggings.

 

Harry notices immediately, frowning at Louis as he comes back, and contorting his face in a fairly ridiculous questioning way, as the others take their drinks.

 

His hands come up to circle Louis' wrist hotly after, pulling away from their friends, pulling Louis further towards the main door.

 

Louis is intensely aware of how close their bodies are, Harry pervading all his senses, his sweet, sweet smell that makes Louis wants to bite him; the drag of his skin on Louis' skin as Harry pulls them out of the club, in a deserted alley near it's entrance.

 

The alley is a good reminder of the phrase 'better safe than sorry', looking dangerous in the evening light with hardly any light pervading in.

 

Louis is about to comment to Harry, about the fact that they actually seem to be standing on something incredibly squelcy and probably disgusting, when the latter tips Louis chin up with his a finger.

 

Harry's breath fans across Louis face, tickling his lips, and his eyes are boring into Louis', "You looked like a hunted animal back there, Lou. What's wrong?"

 

Louis wants to open his mouth and tell Harry that it's just nerves, he's anxious he isn't good enough for his stage, for Harry.

 

Except, his minds gets caught up in the enticing way Harry is licking his lips, just a breath away from Louis', and he wants to kiss Harry so, so badly; to taste those pink lips that he's been dreaming about for months.

 

They're not breathing, the air stretched like a drum between them, the tension drumming on Louis' skin and suddenly, he is surging forward to kiss Harry, digging his hands in Harry's curls to pull him closer.

 

Harry responds immediately, with a needy, throaty groan that makes Louis' dick twitch.  
Harry kisses Louis like he's never been kissed before, hands tight on Louis waist, body harshly pressing into Louis' and it all makes Louis giddy.

 

He clutches at Harry's shoulders, tight enough to leave marks probably, fingers clenched around muscles that he'd been dying to touch for months.

 

The kiss tastes like alcohol, as Louis licks inside Harry's mouth and he wants to know how Harry tastes in the morning, what tang does his tongue have when he's just finished singing on a stage, wants to lave the sweat Louis can see pooling in the hollow of his collarbones, so he does just that.

 

The alley smells awful, like rotting bananas and wet paper, but Louis loves it, and as Harry goes to kiss the curve of neck, Louis is in love with the world and a smelly alley won't spoil his bliss.

 

The feel of Harry's lips grazing his neck, then his teeth as he sucks and bite a little too hard at Louis' neck make Louis stumble a bit, and that seems to jerk Harry back to reality. He steadies Louis by the waist.  
Louis feels exceptionally tiny, wedged as he is between the wall and Harry, the latter who is now gazing at him with wide eyes, which are glassy and an open mouth, which is bitten red, and Louis did that.

 

He is about to make some comment to draw Harry back, but before he could, the boy pulls away from Louis, putting more distance between them than should be allowed.

 

There's distance between them suddenly, dead silence filling the space as they just stare at each other for a suspended moment, Louis' cheeks flushed and fingers jittery as he uncertainly trails them from Harry's hair to his cheeks.

 

Harry pulls back at the gesture, as if the gentleness of Louis' touch had burned him back to reality. He pulls away more, in a clean and abrupt motion, and Louis swallows a whine rising in his throat in protest, acceptance of Harry's rejection swirling in his gut, like a sick, poisonous thing that eats from the inside.

 

Harry's body is a taut stretch of tension, shadows surrounding him, making him look like a peculiar tortured version of himself. Louis hates him, this version of Harry who is just standing silently, avoiding eye contact.

 

Harry opens his mouth to say something, and Louis inhales sharply in expectation, but just then the phone in his pocket rings blaring Zayn's callertune.

 

Louis' hands fumble as he fishes the phone out of his tight jeans, and for one second he can feel Harry's eyes on his body again, slivers of want shining through in the brief moment he actually looks back at Louis.

 

Harry goes back to staring at his own shoes, as Louis talks to Zayn, the latter apparently wants them to 'hurry up and get their tardy arses to the stage'.  
Louis mumbles back something, hopefully coherent because he can't reign his thoughts, his mind stuck on the expression on Harry's face as he'd moved away from Louis. His expression now as he stands apart from Louis, toeing the concrete in a gesture that is unsure and morose. Louis might just have collosally fucked up.

 

Kissing your unwilling best mate in an alley just before you perform has to rank up high in the list of things that have gone way off track.

 

Except Harry had been willing.

 

He'd kissed Louis back with so much fervor, licking into Louis' mouth with certainty and want, want, want. His hands had been almost reverent on Louis' body, mouth all-consuming on his, and Louis can still taste him now, on his own tongue, can feel him on the wet saliva left on the bare stretch of his collarbone where Harry'd swirled his tongue. Louis can still feel his neck smarting a little, where Harry'd bit him and he would have loved this at any other time.

 

But the truth is that Harry is standing away from him now, in clear regret, and he'd pulled back almost as if he didn't want Louis, as if it wasn't Harry who'd just marked up Louis, Harry whose hands had dug into Louis' back and arse with how much he wanted. Louis realizes that it's probably his own bloody mistake kissing Harry like that, but the way Harry is looking at anything but him makes him feel cheap somehow.

 

Dirty.

 

Louis has changed a lot since he'd left that tiny town in Doncaster, he'd changed even more when he met Harry.

 

All his new excitement for life could be traced back to the boys, but mostly to Harry, for it's been with Harry that he'd let all his fine-tuned constraints go, let all his inner restlessness come out.

 

Now, Louis just feels sad, and a little betrayed, but it's no big deal. No big deal.

Friends kiss all the time, right?

 

Harry would believe that when Louis says it, that this was nothing, just some friendly snog and they'd come out with their friendship intact.

 

Harry needn't ever know how utterly gone for him Louis is.

 

Louis gestures tiredly to the entrance, "Let's...just go? We have to perform in twenty."

 

Harry nods in response, quickly scuttling back and ignoring Louis in the process.

 

Louis watches the stride of Harry's long, long legs as they make their escape.

 

Louis tilts his back to the wall with a dull sounding thud, closes his eyes for a moment until the reds swirls behind his eyelids stop, the staccato pulse in his veins finally calm a little. He will be fine, he just needs a moment.

 

Louis will be fine.

*****

Contrary to Louis' pessimism, the gig goes well. It may have even surpassed Niall's expectations, and that is truly a feat because Niall is the most optimistic of them all.

 

Louis doesn't remember much of it concretely, just flashes of loud, loud music, ~their~ music pounding through his body but mostly the way the stage lights had danced on Harry's back, the muscles straining his black t-shirt.

 

Harry has been on fire tonight, singing each song like he meant every word and never looking at Louis. Not even once.

 

After that he has disappeared somewhere in the crowd, and Louis feels weird.

 

He remembers how Harry'd said that he looked like a hunted animal earlier, but now he feels one.

 

Something about the gleaming strobe lights, as the DJ plays some pulsating tune, gets at Louis.  
He throws back the shot of vodka in front of him, a remnant of Niall who'd bought it and then disappeared somewhere with Zayn, to dance possibly.

 

Louis gulps down another one, his fourth or fifth, and suddenly Louis wants to dance.

 

His skin is itching to be touched, wanting to feel the press of human bodies on his own, the intimacy of skin and the sheer pleasure of shaking his butt to the music.

 

Louis gets up from his chair, the motion making him feel dizzy for a moment, as he makes his way to the dance floor.

 

Louis dances and dances, remembering how much he loves music, exalting in how good it feels to let go, how the pleasure seems to skitter at his skin pleasantly.

 

There are hands on his waist suddenly, hands that feel huge, and for one wild, exuberant moment Louis think it's Harry.

 

But it's some other bloke, tall, quiffy and with brown eyes that Louis likes the look of.

 

Louis has never danced like this with another guy, tilting his neck back as he loops his arms around the other guy's neck. They dance for a while, and it's good, the guy, Nick, is lovely. Louis presses his face into Nick's neck, overcome with how lovely everything is and yet how much he wishes it was Harry dancing with him now, giggling into his hair.

 

As Louis turns his head, it seems that his thoughts have summoned their primary occupant, for Harry is right in his line of sight, staring straight at where Louis' body is almost shrouded by Nicks.  
It makes Louis feel slightly uncomfortable, the fact that Harry is clearly discomfited by this. If he has been a more vicious person, Louis could have drawn it out, make Harry properly jealous. But he's not. He cares about and knows just how sharply jealousy stings, if Harry's even feeling it, that is.

 

Louis wobbles slightly, disentangling himself from Nick a litte, who only pulls him more closer by the waist.

 

Harry watches the entire exchange with narrowed eyes, and Louis feels hot suddenly, glad to have Harry atleast looking at him again, but also a little pissed off. In every sense of the word, Harry has no right, and if he is indeed jealous because Louis is dancing with some other guy after- after Harry himself turned him down, then Louis is well justified in his confusion and anger.

 

But that doesn't change the fact that Nick's hands suddenly feel too constraining on his body, and the entire colourful atmosphere which was causing him so much joy a moment before now sits tight on his shoulders, almost claustrophobically.

 

Good mood dampening quickly by Harry's presence, Louis pushes himself away from Nick, who pats him on the butt as a parting gesture.  
He makes a beeline for Harry, who's standing stock still, eyes intent on Louis and Louis is so tired suddenly.

 

He justs wants to talk this out, then go collapse in his bed, preferably with a bottle of alcohol to nurse his, admittedly a little bit broken, heart.

 

Louis doesn't stop by Harry, just makes his way to the door leading outside to the brisk cold air. He doesn't care if Harry follows, but he knows he will.

 

Louis makes his way towards Harry's car, waiting for him to come unlock it. They get inside, the interior warm and smelling like Harry, as Harry starts up the engine.

 

Still they don't say anything, the air awkward and stilty around them, Harry hands grip the wheel tighty, as Louis stares outside as the lights flash by them, the road slick with water. It must have rained before, when they were inside, maybe when Louis was being ignored by Harry or when Harry has subtlely barged in when Nick and Louis were dancing, as if to lay claim. 

 

Louis doesn't know what to think or what to feel, as he stares at the blurry orange string that the lamplights outside paint through the window. The leather is cool beneath his skin, and as he tilts his head on the window, he thinks they'll be lucky to get out of this mess with their friendship intact.

 

Louis doesn't want to go back to how they started out, the thought of their earlier disconnect so alien to him that he desperately hopes that this is salvageable, their friendship too strong to be destroyed over this, a couple of mutual mistakes.

*****

 

Harry's flat is dark and almost solemnly silent as they enter, the shadows shrinking to the corners as Louis flicks on the light. He turns back to the room, and suddenly finds Harry in his space, not touching but just close enough that Louis can bridge the distance with one flick of his tongue, to taste the sweat gleaming on Harry's skin.

 

Louis swallows, looking away and he feels so transparent, like his cards are all on the table, his heart on his sleeve for Harry to tear out.

 

The silence is brittle, seems to scratch at Louis' skin with the need to fill it, so he says, "I am sorry. I shouldn't...I shouldn't have kissed you. I am sorry, Haz, I just...wanted to. You are too much and I am sorry."

 

Harry seems almost larger, with how he's looking at Louis now, something intense and hopeful warring in his eyes, "You regret it? Was I just- just some kind of gay experiment then?"

 

Louis wants to fists his hand in Harry's hair, want to scrape his teeth along the ridge of his throat, want to scream his frustation into Harry's mouth, wants Harry in him.

 

He settles for blinking up at Harry, biting his lip punishingly before saying, "No. You weren't an experiment. I know exactly what I want. But-"

 

Harry is suddenly all Louis can feel, his fingers digging painfully in Louis' shoulders as he seems to come even closer, his eyes large and green in the white lights, lips red. Louis can't fucking look away, can't remember what it was that he was going to say.

 

Harry stills, his eyes widening even more as he looks at the way Louis' looking at him, breaths puffing fast and harsh from his lips.

 

"I want to kiss you. Everyone wants to kiss you. But I want to the most." Louis isn't thinking, just speaking the truth, the bare fact of how much he wants Harry Styles, to kiss him, to wake up with his lips on Harry's neck, to celebrate anniversaries and birthdays and christmases, fucking everything, together. He wants so much, and Harry can't possibly feel that too, this kind of sheer want running like adrenaline in Louis' veins; except it, unlike adrenaline, never fades. He always wants Harry, close, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, and the sheer futility, the extremity of his emotions makes Louis feel too full.

 

Harry's hands are shaking, fingertips quavering as he brings both palms up to cup Louis' cheeks, so gentle that Louis feels like glass, like he is going to burst all over Harry in shimmery dust. It's unreal but Harry is too real, his hands which are too clammy and cold on Louis' skin are too real.

 

Harry's lips shakes, his voice trembles as he says, "Me too. Louis, I want you too. So much. Tell me this is real."

 

There's diamonds glimmering in Harry's eyes, wet tears just peeking out and Louis goes on tiptoes to gingerly kiss them away.

 

He trails careful lips, so careful, down to Harry's jaw, to his neck and Harry's hands go to the nape of Louis' neck.

 

Louis has something welling inside him, a certain kind of joy that makes all his limbs feel floaty, and it crescendoes as Harry gently merges their lips together.

 

This kiss is everything their first one was not, tentative and gentle, but above all certain.

 

Louis feels Harry's lips against his own, like home, like tea after a sleepless night and he can't believe he's finally allowed to do this.

 

Harry's bites Louis' bottom lip, the gesture having rawness behind it, and there are colours bursting behind Louis' eyelids, starlight dancing on his skin, bursting in his veins.

 

After what feels like just a minute, but also like an eternity encapsulated in a minute, they stop.

 

Harry pulls back, his lips gleaming from the kiss, spit making them slick and swollen, and Louis wants him so badly, he just dives mindlessly back. Or tries to, atleast.

 

Because suddenly, Harry's hands are on his throat, too gentle but definitly restraining, and as he bends downs to brush his damp lips to the curve of Louis' neck, making it tickle, as he says, voice rough and throaty, "We need to talk before- before anything. I need to know that you're not just replacing that guy in the club with me. I just-"  
He bites off, agitatedly, goes against his own words by proceeding to suck at Louis' neck, teeth sharp in a way that shoots white heat down to Louis' toes, lax hands tightening around Louis' waist.

 

Louis feels like fire, he wants to burn it all up, he wants Harry to stoke at the need clawing at his skin, but more importantly he needs Harry to know. To know just how much Louis is gone for him, is in love with Harry.

 

Louis' neck is thrown back, giving Harry better access to the skin, and as he feels the pin-prick of a new lovebite on his throat, he moans, the sound high and breathy.

 

It's funny because they desperately need to stop, to give talking a fair attempt. But it's too much and Louis' been wanting this for far too long, there is his need to let Harry know how much he means to Louis warring with Louis' absolute inability to stop kissing Harry, moaning his name.

 

He pushes his fingers in Harry's curls, pulling him back and then pushing him, moving both their bodies towards the bed.

 

They fall down noiselessly, and Harry immediately scrabbles for Louis' arse with both of his hands, hitching him further up his own body on the bed.

 

Suddenly, they're eye to eye as they seldom are. Blue staring into green, pants painting the air between them with desperation and, more importantly, hope.

 

Louis takes a shuddering breath, gathering up courage to say it, to come clean, figuratively and literally, "Harry." A pause where everything is punctuated by stillness, Harry's hand still and tight on his flesh, his breath held as he waits for Louis to continue. "I may have wanted you since I met you. I wanted you then and I want you now. You are- you are everything, Haz. You mean so much to me, and I kissed you today, because I couldn't restrain it anymore. Because I had to know what you taste like."

 

Harry's face is blank, scarily blank, and something punches Louis in his chest, his father's voice reverbating inside his head to take it back, to keep himself safe, passion is dangerous and inhibitory to perfection. Louis wants to crawl out of his own skin, because his insecurites are perfectly complemented by his upbringing, but then Harry licks his lips, as if readying to speak and Louis is breathless, stops squirming to look at the boy who's managed to turn his world upside-down.

 

Harry brings his hands up to push at Louis' shoulders, and for a wild moment there's roaring panic exploding in Louis' head, but Harry only reverses their position, looming over Louis now with an intent gaze.

 

Louis tips his head back, exposing his neck and Harry smiles at that, a little joyous thing before, "I am in love with you, Louis. That's what this is, and I thought- I thought you were straight. But then you kissed me, and danced with that guy. I don't- don't know anything, except- except that I love you."

 

Louis is still, unmoving, for once legitimately shocked and Harry pushes his bottom lip out at him, blinking down owlishly while pouting. It feels like Louis' heart has swollen twice to it's size, like his skin has tiny crackers shooting fireworks in the sky, while simultaneously making him feel all he's made of starshine.

 

Suddenly, the enormity of the situation registers with him, and- Harry is in love with him!

 

Louis is laughing suddenly, a quiet sort of soft snuffling, as if the sheer joy of the moment is too much to be contained, and Harry buries his face in Louis' neck, muffling his drawn out wail of, "Heeey"

 

It's quiet after a moment, and Harry slides down to rest his head properly over Louis' chest, ear over Louis' heart, as if the thud, thud, thud soothes him somehow.

 

Louis massages Harry's curls, hardly feeling his fingers because it's feels like they melt wherever they touch Harry.

 

Louis thinks Harry must hear his voice booming in his chest, as he says, "Well, you're in luck, curly. I love you too. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact."

 

Harry has this too big grin on his face, as he comes up to kiss Louis again, and the last coherent thought that Louis forms is that how manic he'd find it if it wasn't for how utterly in love he is with this long, lanky boy.

 

It hits Louis at once, how real this is, the smooth-rough drag of his fingers on Harry's skin is almost too much. Louis looks down in awe, at the warm boy lying on him and it seems that he'd spent a lifetime not feeling real, a lifetime of feeling like his skin was frozen ice, but the gentle touch of Harry's lips, the fire behind them, lights him up, makes him feel himself all over his body, warm and melting. Real.

 

The way that Harry's lips hover and then touch the skin of Louis' neck make Louis feels he is sparkling, skin feeling like an obstruction in his quest to be close to Harry, so close that he could feel Harry's heart in his own chest and not have to reach out to find Harry's at his side.

 

Louis runs a hand over Harry's back, just reveling at how his flesh curves in Louis' hands and how Harry arches his back to be nearer to Louis.

 

Suddenly, they're back to where they were, Harry beneath Louis, eyes closed in the purple intensity of the moment, as if the fire won't burn if you can't see it.

 

Harry- Harry is just so fucking beautiful, the way his lips are red, his curls so soft, and Louis can't believe the fact that he know what those lips taste like, he know the sound of Harry's moan when Louis jerks slightly at his hair.

 

Louis towers over Harry, chests pressed together and he can feel the thud, thud, thud of both of their hearts as he catches ahold of Harry's wrist, fingers tight around his booming pulse.

 

The bed dips around them, tiny little creases that are evidence of the weight of them, their love, the way Harry is now keening a little in response to Louis thrusting his hips into the cradle formed by Harry's.

 

It's beautiful, and Louis wants to be a painter suddenly, to imprint these pictures on paper with colours less glorious than the flush of Harry' skin, the pink in his cheek, the dark curls splaying around his face, his plush, red mouth and green, bright eyes.

 

Louis wants to take colours and splatter them on a canvas, wants to convey somehow how utterly ethereal it feels to have Harry against him, the sound of their pants as they rut together, the friction skin that is Harry that is Louis that is them, the hardness of Harry's cock against Louis' thighs.

 

It's frantic, and yet Louis feels it slowly, feels each slow burn of pleasure like a candle burning on a moonless night, and Harry is right there, beneath his fingertips. His.

 

Louis' gazes at the closed eyelids, lavender bruises beneath them and he thinks he'd die if Harry opens them. He'd die at that utter final proof of the reality of all this, and Harry opens his eyes then, black circled in green filled with want, with this softer thing that would melt Louis' bones if he allowed it. He allows it.

 

Harry stares up at Louis for a moment, looking so vulrenable yet so reckless about it, as if he knows that they can destroy each other, but believes they won't.

 

Louis loves him.

 

"I love you."

 

Harry smiles, and it's just so beautiful, and Louis thinks oh. This is what love is.

 

Love is lying entangled on a bed, Harry's smile making his heart race because nothing is greater, is it?

 

It's almost too much, definitely too much, so Louis brings their lips together again, exchanging breaths and pants that show exactly how much craving is between their hearts, strings of love love love tangling infinitely and intangibly between them.

 

Louis kisses Harry, the feel of skin on skin is good, but sharing tastes is so much better, sharing their oxygen, their ability to breathe is so much more because it does feels like Louis couldn't breath without Harry.

 

It's quite possible that Louis has become a complete and utter sap, but it's just so, so good.

 

Louis'd never gotten the hype about kissing before, on the mouth, because how is exchanging saliva sexy. He'd always preferred to kiss necks, and stomachs, the expanse between bones, the curves indented between them.

 

Louis could kiss Harry for several eternities, a string of cosmos could be exploding and he wouldn't care enough to stop kissing Harry, to give up the taste of his mouth.

 

They're kissing, and Louis wants more, more skin to kiss, more skin to rub his tongue at and nibble with his teeth. Harry is deliciously biteable, squirms in a way that makes Louis jittery with arousal, his dick fattening greedily.

 

Clothes are off in a blur of hands and mouths, Harry scratching Louis' back in a attempt to be closer.

 

There's nothing between them, heated bodies flush together, and they're moving again, a rhythm between their bodies underlined by the slaps that skin on skin make, the voice obscene and so, so privately theirs, Louis wants to record it.

 

Harry is all muscle, since he insisted on being on top of Louis, canting their hips together, taking their cocks in his huge hands as he works them together.

 

Louis is so overwhelmed, he likes how big Harry's hand feel around him, he likes it so much that it only takes one or two jerks from them before Louis' coming, shooting his release between them with a loud rasp of "Harry".

 

After a minute, when Louis feels like he could move his limbs again, he opens his eyes to find Harry staring at him, on his haunches, hands unmoving on his own prick as he just stares at Louis, looking a little too in awe and a lot more in love.

 

Louis stares at him, the way his pretty, pretty cock is drooling all over his thigh and he wants that suddenly. Wants to know the weight and taste of Harry in mouth.

 

He reaches out with a tiny tan hand, lightly touching Harry's cock and Harry hisses at that, eyes closing at the intensity, eyelashes clumping together.

 

Louis is fascinated by this, he's seen a lot of expressions of Harry's face, the way his eyebrows crumple together when he's writing a song, the way he is just so free onstage, his smile around kids and his smile around Louis. This sheer expression of need, almost painful in it's rawness, is- is beautiful.

 

Louis pushes Harry back on the bed, crawling between his legs to gently kiss at his thighs, nosing along them to finally reach his cock.

 

It's a little daunting, but one look at Harry's face fills Louis with much-needed confidence, so he just goes at it. Louis has been restrained most of his life, taming down his flamboyance, damping the reckless energy that vied to shoot off his body.

 

Sucking Harry's cock feels like the last cut from his previous life, the final departure from the person he was being molded into by his father.

 

Louis is enthusiastic about it, and going by the way Harry comes just after a minute of Louis' mouth, seeme to be quite good at it too.

 

Harry is breathless in orgasm, body a plane of smooth skin and erect nipples, bite marks dotting the spaces of his body. He's looks like a disaster, Louis' disaster.

 

Afterwards, when they're lying sated together, sleep forming a beckoning haze in their minds, Louis twines his fingers with Harry, resting their hands on his chest as he snuggles into Harry's side. The last thing that floats in his mind, like colourful helium balloons dotting the blue horizon, is how well they fit together, how invincible he feels with Harry.

 

For a pair of lads lying together on dirtied sheets, there is so much love and possibility wrapped around their bodies.

 

It is, in fact, a little bit invincible.

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Tumblr: wearestarshine.tumblr.com


End file.
